


Next Year

by poisonedsoup



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst, Artist!Levi, Coffee Shops, Fluff, How many cliches can I fit into a single fic?, M/M, Painting, Pining Levi, Reincarnation, Will add more tags as I go along, Woops, angst makes me nervous, barista!Eren, okay so i suppose there's angst in there, this isn't really an angst fest tho guys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-03-22 14:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3731896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisonedsoup/pseuds/poisonedsoup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Levi remembers everything. He remembers the titans, the death of his friends, his own demise. Most importantly, he remembers Eren. </p><p>"And staring into the stars, I imagine his hand lacing with mine, his thumb tracing warm circles onto the back of my hand. I imagine his chest rising and falling as he lulls into a sleep, taking me with him. And God, do I wish it were real."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This is my first multi-chapter fic, and I'm actually really excited about it. Enjoy!

       

                I remember

                I have always remembered. Even before I could wipe my ass or help myself out of bed I remembered. Imagine, a small, tiny baby, pissing and crying in terror every night because they remember their past life, not understanding anything about it. Just knowing that there are giant, horrifying monsters engraved to the back of your eyelids that won’t go away no matter how much therapy and medication is available to you.

                If I were any weaker, I would have broken for sure. My mind would have snapped with the pain, the anguish. I’d be rotting away in an insane asylum, muttering nonsense to myself.

                Remembering dying isn’t something an average 25-year-old goes through. Nor is hearing the screams of your friends and family as they cry out in pain, being eaten alive. Or the terrified shouts of your loved one as they see you lying upon the ground, bloody and broken, before dying quietly. I can only imagine the roar of fury that followed.

                People say my paintings are terrifying. That they’re bloody, gory, absolutely and utterly captivating in their demented beauty.

                All I see is a memory played back onto canvas. A way to rid my mind of the images without tearing my own eyes out, though I can feel myself slowly slipping into insanity. I don’t quite know how I dealt with it so well, back then. I guess living in the now is worse. Understanding, now that’s the real hell.

                I’m not the only one who remembers. Erwin remembered, like me, since birth. He still has a hard time moving his right arm at times, phantom pains biting at the bones.

                Hange remembers too, but she had only unlocked her memories recently, after meeting Erwin and I in New York. She had just moved there, and once she locked eyes with me she fainted on the spot. After she woke up, she started asking questions, rapid fire, just like her old self. It was a pleasant, yet disturbing, sight to see.

                Neither of them know, however, the extent of my own memories. Or rather, I’ve kept some from them. Personal, fleeting memories that, instead of bringing me pain or grief, bring me joy. Memories of stolen glances and secret kisses, of lustful gazes under the light of the moon. Memories of a smile against my lips, a hand against my cheek as emerald eyes full of love stare into mine with intensity. Memories of him.

                Memories of him plague me every day, the boy I loved like I had loved no other.

                Constantly, I wonder if he remembers, too. If he remembers me as the cold, aloof captain or the warm, close lover. If he knows what his memories meant, or if he went insane before he could understand them. Sometimes I wonder if he’s here at all. If he’s ever been in the present, with me, or if he’s gone and passed already, a freak accident taking him away from me before I get to even see him again.

                I wonder if he feels the love that he’s always deserved.

                It’s selfish of me to wish he were here, to wish that he remembered everything. Nobody should have to remember such monstrosities and inhumane acts committed. He especially shouldn’t be one of the people to remember his past. The amount of horror that he had seen in his short lifetime would be enough to make any sane human snap under the pressure.

                I don’t want him to remember the pain. I just want him to remember _me._

I may not have been there to witness his death, but Hange and Erwin sure were. We haven’t really talked about the deaths of our friends. We don’t talk about how they died, just when.

                Eren died when he was twenty years old, two years after my own death. Apparently, just six months after, the titans were eradicated. In such a short time after his death, Eren’s worst enemies perished utterly and completely.

                When I was told this, my fists involuntarily tightened under the table. He never got to see a world without the titans. He never got to move out beyond the walls, to see the ocean with his friends. He never got the chance to live a happy life without worrying about who was going to die next.

                He never got to truly live.

                Hange described the process for defeating the titans, a jumbled mess of science theorems and soldiers risking their lives in experiments, only to result in fruitless efforts. She describes how the results of one experiment had unexpectedly good results.

                She was proud. Science killed the titans.

                They also described the lives and deaths—that they had known—of the 104th trainee squad.

                Mikasa, following her brother’s death, delved into training and research hard. She grew unexpectedly close to Hange, staying up night after night to work with her. To find a means of escape and vengeance for her brother. She died fifteen years after what everybody called the Day of Resurgence from illness. She had her brother’s scarf wrapped around her neck and his key clutched in her hand.

                I later found out that we actually were related. Kenny Ackerman was her uncle, too, however unfortunate that is. Hange said that she kept fresh flowers on my grave and visited every week, when she went to see her brother. This puzzled Hange, but didn’t surprise me. She had obviously known, somehow, about the relationship her brother and I shared, even if he never explicitly told her.

                Armin also became a researcher, but in a quite different way. After the fall of the titans, he moved to the ocean, as per his dream. He studied the world and the way it worked without the giant beasts, finding that the environment was indifferent with or without them. He died in peace an old man.

                Blouse and Springer got married, and had five fat, happy babies. Nobody really knows where they went or what happened to them, but it’s assumed that they lived and died in peace.

                Kirstein was unfortunate enough to be one of the soldiers who risked their lives, only to die in the process. He stated that he was doing it, not for “that suicidal-bastard”, but for the good of humanity as a whole.

                Historia took her place as the true queen of the walls and ruled fairly. The people loved her, even if they were originally skeptical of her origins. She never married and never had children, so the people decided to elect an assembly, instead of having another royal family. One of the only smart things they’ve ever done regarding politics, in my opinion.

                Braun, Hoover and Leonhart were all captured and tried for their crimes against humanity. Their actions cost them greatly, each of them presented with capital punishment.

                Ymir was never seen again, after her last conversation with Eren, Braun and Hoover. Her friends mourned her death while the rest of humanity rejoiced in the name of a dead traitor. The Queen swore her loyalty and dedicated a research facility in her name. This is where they discovered the cure for the titans.

                Each and every life, affected in some way or another by Eren Yeager.

                Hange and Erwin had plenty of time to describe all of this to me—we all live within ten city blocks of one another. Ah, the wonders of New York City. Where your neighbors are close and the smell of shit is closer.

                No matter how many happy memories they recounted or laughs they shared over lunch, my mind always managed to wander back to him. To Eren. And hell if I could bring a smile to my face when it did. When this did happen, they would both just smile sadly, in understanding. I honestly don’t know if they knew about Eren and I. I can’t ever imagine telling them.

                It’s not that I want to keep it from them. It’s just that there are some things, some memories, that are too good, too sweet, to share with others. That, no matter how much you want to, you can’t. Because if you share it, it won’t be as sweet. It will never be as sweet as a secret shared between two lovers.

                Human minds are fragile things. And memories can destroy its balance in the fraction of a second.


	2. You, Today

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Levi meets his new neighbors, and well, really, you guys know what's going to happen. It's a cliche and it works sooo....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tbh I'm not really feeling this chapter. It's kinda just a exposition until I figure out what the fuck I want to do with this series.  
> Again, this series is unbeta'd, so feel free to comment or message me any mistakes!

                I never could mix that perfect color of green that sparkled mischievously, furiously, sweetly. Always a shade or two off, never the right mixture of blue thrown in. Never good enough to capture the feeling behind them.

                That never stopped me from trying, of course. I would sit in front of my easel for hours, feeling the need to paint those eyes, those orbs that shone like emeralds in the sunlight and glinted like jade under the moon. Never could an inadequate color grace his face. I could never paint him. I never have. It would ruin his perfection, ruin my own image of him.

                And yet still, it never stopped me from trying.

                And trying is what I am doing, nearly biting my nails down to the quick in frustration as I erase the sloppy lines I’ve traced lightly onto the paper. A noise that is a mix between a growl and a grunt escapes my lips before I throw my pencil down in frustration. At this same moment, a loud, scraping, screechy sound like wood-on-wood sounds from above my head, making me jump and spill the paint I had been trying to mix in my palette onto the canvas in front of me.

                Glaring at the ceiling—and the noise—I clean the canvas off with a cloth and pick up my paintbrush, fully prepared to just paint whatever it is my hand decides to create today. I mix a soft, grass green color and, just as I touch the brush to the slightly-already-green canvas, another bump comes from the apartment above me.

                “ _Fucking great,”_ I think to myself. “ _The new neighbors are moving in today._ ”

                Just as I sit, waiting for the bumps, bangs and muffled curses sounding from above to end, I wonder how I had ever gotten this terrible of luck. It sounds as if two baby elephants had moved in up there. A noise mimicking the sound of a laugh is heard, and I can physically feel my frown deepen in annoyance.

                This continues for the rest of the morning, and well into the afternoon. In this span of time, I’ve managed to drop my paintbrush five times, spill my tea twice and shout at the neighbors to shut the fuck up through the thin ceiling more times than I could count.

                I realize that I wasn’t going to get anywhere with my painting when I looked back to my canvas and saw four even lines, all in different colors and textures of green. They glint and gleam, mocking me with their color and imperfections. I let out a long, deep sigh before removing myself from my spot in front of the easel, turning to the kitchen to wash my brushes out.

                The water running over my dry fingers slightly soothes me and calms me down, as does focusing on cleaning and rinsing out the horsehair brushes. I don’t know how long I stood there, just cleaning and looking down at the green, swirling water in the sink, watching it turn into pure, clear water running through a wet paintbrush.

                I shut the water off and placed the brush back into its rightful place before returning to the kitchen and brewing myself a cup of tea with the kettle. It doesn’t take long for it to whistle, a high-pitched, keening noise that has me scrunching up my nose and scowling in distaste.

                Taking a mug from the cabinet, I begin to pour the hot, scorching water into a mug when another, unexpected bump from above makes me jump. The water spills over the lip of the cup and straight onto my exposed hand, scalding it immediately.

                I watch my hand in fury as it begins to turn a deep red color. Then, the pain begins to throb in my hand. I thrust it under the faucet and turn on the cold water, a stinging sensation running up my arm as the icy water comes in contact with the fiery burn.

                Since I personally have a rather high pain tolerance, I run my hand under the water for no more than thirty seconds before shutting it off and walking quickly, deliberately across my apartment. Throwing open the door, I hear my footsteps echo in the empty hallways and stairwells as I make my way up to the wildebeest’s apartment.

                The number on the door reads 415, but this small fact means absolutely nothing to me as I pound angrily on the door, my burnt hand curled into a fist at my side. “Hey asswipe!” I shout at the apartment door. “Open the damned door!”

                “One sec!” I hear a voice call back, making me seethe in anger. I don’t have a fucking second. I want to gut you right _now_.

                Of course, this thought leaves my mind immediately as the door opens to a tall (well, average-height I suppose), brunet brat.

                What really stopped me in my tracks were the emerald eyes, glinting back at me in mirth.

                How many times had I imagined meeting him again, here, in the present and in this universe? How many days had I dreamed and hoped and wished for him to appear, only for the world to pull up short and give me aches instead? Good God, how many times had I thought about his life and his death and his face and his chest and his hands and his skin and his _eyes_ , my God his eyes.

                How many times had I replayed my own memories just to see his face, happy and alive?

                And all of this, only for him to be standing right here, in front of me, in a shitty apartment building with thin walls and ceilings through which you can hear _everything._ The universe, I’m not realizing for the first time, is a very cruel place. Because while I thought I had accepted the fact that I’d never see Eren again, I never truly had, believing that I was stronger, more composed and less compassionate than that.

                I never thought I’d find him, but I never stopped looking, either.

                He smiled down at me, a curious look in his eyes. His brown hair is swept over his forehead messily, looking as if he hadn’t brushed it in days. A faint dusting of pink rests upon his cheeks and a sheen of sweat glimmers on his forehead, on his neck, on the collarbone shown off by a black V-neck…

                White teeth are shown off when his smile widens, and I can feel my heart beating in my chest, my breath quickening as I wait for him to say something, to say _anything_ , something that may tell me whether or not…

                “Hello,” he says quietly, making my already speeding heart pick up the pace. “Who are you?”

                I hear the blood rush in my ears and the breath swoosh out of my lungs with these three words, leaving everything crash down around me in broken pieces. I open my mouth to respond, only to close it again when it won’t work properly.

                He doesn’t remember. He doesn’t remember anything. He doesn’t remember the titans, the fall of Shiganshina, the failed missions, the deaths of his parents.

                He doesn’t remember _me_.

                “Eren, who is it?” I hear a voice call out from inside the apartment somewhere. He looks over his shoulder to watch a girl—no, a woman—with black hair and almond eyes approach the doorway.

                “I don’t know, he won’t say anything.” His voice sounds like how it did then, too, if not deeper, made rougher by time.

                The woman, now in my full line of sight, definitely recognizes me, however. Her eyes widen and her mouth opens slightly as she takes in my full appearance which, let’s be honest, hasn’t really changed much from then. A few piercings, a few tattoos.  Different clothes definitely.

                But the same Levi.

                She then composes her face, and I quickly tell myself to do the same. I replace the dumbfounded expression on my face with the same bored, disinterested mask that I’ve always worn when I needed it.

                “Did you need something?” she asks me, the glint in her eyes telling me to say something or she’s going to shut the door in my face and leave me without getting to say anything at all.

                I rack my brains for a response and remember why I had come up here to confront the two. “Yeah, are you two fucking stupid? Do you not realize the amount of noise you are making? Jesus fucking Christ, you sound like a pair of buffalos.”

                I watch Mikasa’s expression change slightly as she sets her jaw and nods. I look up to Eren to see that he’s now blushing scarlet, embarrassment evident on his face. “I’m so sorry, Sir!” I can feel my spine straighten and my muscles tighten at the utterance of that single word. “That was all me!” The tension returns to my face, creasing my eyebrows and deepening the frown on my face.

                “Are you hurt?” he asks me, his eyes full of the same kindness and concern as they always have. He reaches his hand out to my hands, which have uncurled from their tight fists. Lightly, as if touching the fur on a newborn kitten, he runs his fingers across the angry, red burn. I watch his face as the emotions in his eyes transform and intertwine with each other, making them sparkle or darken in the artificial light.

                “Eren,” Mikasa lays her hand on his shoulder. Looking up to her, I see sadness in her eyes, as if she’s feeling the pain that my body has learned to numb itself too. Even so, I can still feel the force of it, like the waves building pressure before a storm. “Eren, run to the store. That’s obviously a burn, and we need a new first aid kit.”

                “But don’t you think he’ll—“

                “I’ll have him put it in cold water first. Now go!” Her tone is soft, yet forceful.

                Eren turns back to me with a small grin on his face. “I’m sorry, I’ll be back soon!” He waves as he backpedals, then turns and—almost slamming into the wall—starts running through the hall and down the stairwell.

                “Let’s go inside for this,” Mikasa says to me, stepping back into her apartment. I follow her inside, stepping around the boxes that have yet to be unpacked. “Luckily, we just finished pulling all of our furniture in.” I see a slight smirk on her face. “That’s probably why we sounded like buffalos.”

                We sit down on a soft, gray futon. I lean forward onto my elbows and take my face in my hands, rubbing my palms over my eyes. “It’s good to see you alive,” I say to her through a deep sigh.

                “Ditto, though I’m sure it’s not me that you’re happy is alive.”

                I crack a grin and turn my face towards her. “Of course I’m happy you’re alive, how else would he survive?” She smiles back, and a weight drops off of my shoulders. I feel as if I’m sagging down to the floor, and it’s becoming a little hard to breathe.

                I swallow the lump in my throat before beginning again. “So, I’m safe in assuming he doesn’t know-,” I catch myself, “doesn’t _remember_ anything?”

                Out of the corner of my eye, I see her nod. “And I intend to keep it that way.” Her voice drops down into a whisper. “He’s had a better life here. He doesn’t need to remember that hell, that pain.” When I look at her, I see an accusing look in her eyes. Immediately, I feel my anger rising.

                “You really think I’d stoop that fucking low?” She recoils, not expecting me to retaliate. “I’m not going to fucking tell him anything. I don’t want him to remember the pain, his horrors. I just want him to remember _me._ ” My voice cracks, and I duck away. “I just want him to remember us.”

                She attempts to place a hand on my shoulder, but I immediately move away from her touch. “God, you have no idea how long I looked for him. How long I wished for him to be here. And now he is here…and I don’t know what’s worse. Him not being here or him not remembering.”

                “So you’d rather he be dead than he not remember?” she says coldly, and I roll my eyes again.

                “No, you dipshit. I don’t want him dead. What I mean is…I think it would be better, for both his health and mine, to have never met again in this world. If he had remembered…maybe it would have been different.”

                “So you don’t even want to see him again, or speak to him.”

                “No! Jesus Christ, stop putting words in my mouth. I just…it’s going to be a long few months, for me at least.” I lean back onto the futon, my head tilted upwards towards the ceiling. I can feel my blood slowing in my veins, my body calming itself from a near panic attack.

                With a small smirk, I slightly tilt my head back towards Mikasa. “How did you even know about us?”

                She rolls her eyes. “Please. You guys were anything but discreet. You think I didn’t notice him coming from the direction of your room after breakfast every morning?” This makes me snort. A sad smile replaces her annoyed look. “Besides, he was suddenly happier. He smiled more, got into less fights with Jean. And he would just go on and on about you, how great you were, and soon I realized that he wasn’t just speaking as a fanboy would speak about his idol. He was speaking as a man would about his lover.” She stares off, through the window, fiddling with the bracelet around her wrist. “You made him so happy.” She turns back towards me. “Who am I to deny him that happiness, especially here. You just have to promise me, you will _not_ tell him. Anything. You can’t mention anything to him. If he remembers, if it comes back naturally, I won’t mind. But if you trigger it, with words or actions or otherwise…”

                “I promise not to compromise his happiness with selfishness. Is that what you wanted?”

                She smiles. “Yes.”

                “Well good, I wasn’t planning on it anytime soon anyways.”

                For a few minutes, we just sat in silence, contemplating what this would mean for us. For him.

                Ultimately, I’ve decided that having Eren around, for the better or the worse, would change me. And that no matter what I said or did, I would never help but wish that he remembered, selfishness be damned.

                If he does come to remember, then I’m a terrible person. I’ve failed him his happiness, dragged him back into the world of horrors and memories. But at least he’d be there with me.

                Eren, please forgive me this one weakness, and I’ll forgive myself.


	3. What You've Become

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Levi knows that he can't expose Eren's past life to him, just as he knows that Eren won't be his.  
> Not now. Not here. Not ever again. Not as long as he doesn't remember. And Levi wouldn't be the one to change the state of his memory. Not as long as he's happy, here and now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'm so sorry that this is such a late update! I've been a bit busy recently, with school and tests and finals coming up. I can't promise another update in the next week, but I will work at it, and try to get there!  
> Secondly, I honestly have no idea where I'm going with this fic. I have basic guidelines, but I have no clue on how I'm going to get from point to point. So please bear with me while I bumble through this fic!
> 
> Unbeta'd, as always. Enjoy!

                I’m broken from a reverie when Eren bursts through the door, his breath coming in labored pants with his hair plastered to his forehead. He rushes over to Mikasa and me, on the couch, the plastic grocery bag swinging in his hand. There’s a sense of urgency in his eyes that is all too familiar, all too painful to look at.

                I flinch away from the face that taunts my every moment. Instead, I stare down at my hand, which is now a blistered red color. I can feel the blood moving underneath it and I realize that Mikasa never got ice water for me to take the edge off the burn.

                Well, fuck.

                Eren kneels on the ground in front of me and pulls different objects out of the bag, placing them on the coffee table. Apparently, he didn’t just buy a new first-aid kit. He also bought bandages, gauze, anti-bacterial, alcohol, sterilizer wipes and burn cream, as well as paper medical tape.

                Looking back at him, I raise an eyebrow. He blushes a deep red at my inquisitive gaze and sits down on the couch where Mikasa was (I hadn’t even realized that she had moved). He gives me a sheepish smile. “I didn’t want to use up the first-aid kit, so I just bought stuff for you, too.”

                “You know, you didn’t have to do that, you brat,” I respond. “I have my own goddamn medical supplies.”

                He shrugs. “You’re burnt, and I’m able to help.” He removes the gauze from the packaging and rips open a pouch of the burn cream. With light, gentle fingers, he applies it to my skin, making sure to move lightly in the blistered areas. He touches a particularly painful patch of skin, making me release the breath I’d been holding in with a hiss.

                He winces. A whispered “sorry” reaches my ears, and I feel my whole body relax. Closing my eyes, I try to archive the memory that small word brought forward, to be released later in my dreams. Instead of reminiscing about a past Eren, I watch the Eren that’s in front of me right now, tending to the wounds of stranger with nimble fingers and a focused gaze.

                _That’s right,_ I think. _I’m a stranger to him, now. A stranger whom he has just met and is sitting on his couch as he fixes up their burnt hand. He doesn’t know me, he’s never ever actually truly met me. He doesn’t know us. There is no “us”. Not in this lifetime._

                Instead of dwelling on this irrefutable fact, I return back to the moment at hand, where this tan, green-eyed boy is wrapping gauze around burnt appendages of a stranger, and the only thing that I can think is, my God, he’s beautiful. Even with the disgusting sweat making his shirt cling to his body tightly and his hair to stick to his skin, he looks amazing. I study his face, re-memorizing the slant of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the curve of his lips when he smiles and speaks.

                Wait, speaks?

                I remove myself from my thoughts long enough to realize that he’s asking me a question, or at least talking. “…you do?”

                He looks at me expectantly, and I blurt “I’m a painter”, hoping it to be the right answer.

                He looks surprised, but not in the “you just answered my question with something completely irrelevant to the conversation” kind of way, more in that “wow I’ve never actually met somebody who paints for a living I wonder if they’re actually any good” kind of way.

                “Really? That’s awesome. Maybe I could come to see some of your work sometime.” He smiles up at me, and I feel my heart skip a beat.

                Then I realize that Eren could never see some of the things that I paint. Not if he doesn’t remember.

                “…maybe, sometime,” I answer apprehensively, hoping he doesn’t continue to pursue the subject.

                “I’m not really an artistic person myself. My mother used to paint, but I’d never inherited her talent for that kind of beauty.” He doesn’t need the talent for beauty, he _is_ beauty. “I’m far too clumsy,” he laughs.

                “Your mother?” I ask him, silently hoping that his mother wasn’t killed in some terrifying, horrific way in this life as well.

                Instead of the pained, tortured, angry look that you would have received had you asked about his mother in our past lives, his eyes brighten and his smile just widens.

                “Yeah. She used to paint, mostly landscapes. She was really good too, but she stopped painting. She claims that it was a phase that she got over.” He thinks for a moment, “Much like her knitting, sewing, crocheting, sculpting and flower arranging phases. She always has some crazy project going on. Now that I think about it, she’s probably into glass-blowing or some shit right now.”

                His laughter and the bright way he talks about his mother brings a small smile onto my own face. He was never able to talk about her like this back then. Not so openly, so freely. I guess that’s the price you pay when you see her devoured right in front of your eyes.

                He finishes wrapping the gauze around my hand and secures it in place with a piece of medical tape. “All done! Sorry about that, again.” He scratches the back of his neck while looking down at his lap.

                “It’s no problem, brat. Just try not to be so goddamn loud, Jesus Christ.”

                “Well, we’re mostly done moving in, we have all the furniture in. We just need to bring Armin’s stuff in now.”

                My eyes widen. “Armin?”

                He nods. “He’s my best friend. He’s living with Mikasa and I. Well, more like we are living with him. We moved because he got accepted to SUNY and is majoring in Marine Biology.” He sighs. “This apartment was as close as we could get to campus. He asked Mikasa and me to join him because he knew we were dying to move to the city.”

                I smirk. “Not one for rural living?”

                His face scrunches up with a frown. “I hated it. Dad moved us out of Harrisburg into this tiny town in Vermont because of a job. I can tell mom hates it too. I got out of there the first chance I had.”

                “And what is it that you want to do with your life?”

                He lets his head fall back against the couch. “I don’t know. This sounds really bad, but I have no idea what I want to do when I get older. I’m just kind of taking everything as I go.” He looks over to me. “I thought that, maybe if I moved to the city again, to New York, I’d find something that would feel…,” he trails off and looks away again. “Right. Something that would feel right.” These words are just whispers, soft sounds sliding from his lips and into the air between us.

                Yes, something that feels right. With his eyes closed and turned upwards towards the ceiling, I devour the sight of his relaxed pose, the calm, unconcerned look on his face. His tan neck, unmarked and indescribably delicious looking stretched and exposed to the natural lighting of the apartment.

                He’s beautiful, and I can’t act on this beauty. Because that beauty isn’t mine for the taking.

                My wandering eyes cease their journey when the door to the apartment opens and a familiar mushroom of blonde hair pops through the door, a tired smile on his face. “Eren, Mikasa, I’m home!” he calls out, fiddling with his keys while he struggles with the heavy bookbag flung across one shoulder.

                “Hey Armin! How was class today?” Eren’s smile has taken over his whole face.

                “It was good! It was a bit hard staying focused in…” He turns towards the couch and trails off, the smile fading from his face slowly. His mouth opens a bit in shock, looking at the space between Eren and I. I can practically see the gears turning in his head, and I can’t say I’m surprised that he remembers.

                After what feels like a long moment, the corners of his mouth turn upwards again. For what has to be the tenth time today, I let out a breath that I’d been holding in. Thank God this kid has enough common sense to just blurt out what he’s thinking, considering his best friend would probably be scarred for life.

                “Who’s this?” he asks Eren.

                “Oh, he’s our neighbor, Levi.” A sheepish look crosses his face. “He, uh…”

                “He came upstairs to complain about the noise, didn’t he.”

                It wasn’t a question.

                “I was making tea when this wooly mammoth over here decided to move a particularly loud piece of furniture.” Eren ducks his head and looks down at his hands, wringing in his lap.

                “He burnt himself, so I got a first aid kit and patched him up,” he mumbles. Armin chuckles.

                “I trust that you’re okay, sir?” He immediately realizes the mistake that he had made out of habit, a panicked look quickly crossing his face. I dispel it with a dismissive wave and a shake of my head, my mouth upturned in a constructed smirk.

                “I’m fine. There’s no need for the ‘sir’ either, I’m not that old, kid.” He nods, and we fall into an awkward silence. We sit like that for a full thirty seconds before I painfully decide that enough is enough.

                As much as I want to see Eren, and as much as I want to spend every second of every single day for the rest of this life and every moment of the next, I can’t.

                Because, not for the first time today, I realize that he’s not mine to have. Not anymore. And he won’t be, not in this life. Because I’m not willing to risk his happiness for my own.

                “I’m going to be going, then. I’ve…things to do.” The excuse is awkward and broken. I stand, and Eren smiles up at me from the couch, holding out his hand.

                “It was nice to meet you, Levi. Come on up anytime, I’m sure one of us will be home.” His smile and speech are so sincere that they make my heart hurt. I stare at his hand for a moment, not trusting myself to take it. If I take his hand, if I feel his fingers against mine, there’s no way I’ll be able to keep myself from pulling him up off of the couch and into a tight hug.

 

                Instead, I nod and shove my hands into my pockets. He drops his hand immediately, and I am grateful. “I might just take you up on that offer,” I finally respond, my eyes darting over to Armin before returning to look at Eren. I drink in his appearance one last time before turning on my heel, throwing a hurried “Bye” over my shoulder as I exit into the harshly lit hallway.

 

                Instead of taking the elevator down, I use the stairs, flying down them with an urgency, as if my life depended on getting back to my apartment in as little time as possible. I can feel the tingling underneath my skin, the roaring of my blood in my veins as I rush through the door, the slam echoing through the hallway I had just left behind.

 

                I don’t realize what I’m doing or where I’m going until I’m already there, the paintbrush between my fingers and the canvas beneath my hands as I draw and redraw, mix and remix, paint and repaint, blend and reblend the shadows and the arches and the smooth lines and planes of the face I thought I’d never see again.

 

                I’ve a picture in my mind, the same as before, but with different emotions behind it. Both emotions and both visions fueled by longing and desire to caress, to kiss, to lick, taste, _bite_ the perfect skin being captured by the strokes of my paintbrush. Different emotions fueled by the same feelings, fueled by heartache, by pain, by wanting and hoping for the single thing I’ve ever wanted in all of my  life.

 

                A different emotion being fueled by the feeling of relief that comes from seeing his face again, from the happiness and the joy I have at seeing his own happiness, from the longing and hoping and wishing and _feeling_ , oh god being able to _feel_ emotions again.

                I’m not just painting my nightmares, the titans or the trees or the forest or the blood or the dead bodies and dead friends scattered across my vision. I’m not painting the bloody gore of things passed or the memories that plague my every moment of being. I’m painting my dreams and my hopes, and the good memories I’ve managed to preserve, the memories untainted by worry or anger or unrivaled fear that the only thing, the only _person_ I’ve ever loved fully and without hesitation or concern.

                I’m painting _him._ And, oh, does it feel so good.

                I don’t notice that I’m painting him, or his face or his skin or his hair or his eyes, until it’s four in the morning, my eyes burning and my hand cramping. I don’t realize until the paintbrush falls from my fingers, my arm covered from fingertips to elbows in shades of _him_ that I’m still, without question, unequivocally and unrelentingly in love with him.

                I don’t feel the tears streaming down my cheeks, don’t realize that they’re there.

                And I definitely don’t hear the name “Eren” pass over my lips before I collapse to the floor, utterly spent and immediately asleep.


	4. This Weakness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hange! And feelings! Yay!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Sorry for how long it took me to update, but I'm officially means that I'm back in business! I'm not, however, posting regular updates. I'm consistently inconsistent. I'm basically just writing this entire fic as I go along, I have absolutely nothing planned out (rough ideas, yes, but certainly nothing concrete). So, that means I'm open to suggestions! If any of you feel like you'd like to see a certain something happen in this fic, if you feel like you NEED to see something certain come of this fic, then I'm all ears!  
> But, for now, enjoy!

                I can tell you from experience that waking up to a shit-eating grin and a pair of dirty glasses is absolutely terrifying. One minute, you’re peacefully sleeping, and the next, you’re faced with a torrential downpour of high screechy laughs and shrieks.

                This is because that’s exactly how I woke up this morning.

                Well, technically, this afternoon. Apparently, after knocking for five minutes straight (as per Hange, but we both know that was more likely to be five seconds) they let themselves in, with the key that they somehow acquired though I distinctly remember making the decision to never give them one. After looking throughout the house, they finally found me here, in my studio, lying face-down on the carpet with my arms covered up to my elbows in paint.

                “Levi!” they cackled as I unstuck my face from the fibers of the carpet. “I have to admit, when you didn’t answer, I thought that you were just ignoring me.”

                “Hange, we both know that never works, you just barge in anyways.”

                They grin. “Damn right!” They spare a quick glance upwards towards the painting that I had apparently spent the entirety of the night and a good portion of the morning painting. “Was this latest episode triggered by anything?” They motion towards the painting.

                Quite honestly not remembering what I had painted the night before, I sit up and look at my creation, only to have my breath taken away.

                It was him. Of course it was him. But it also wasn’t him, at the same time. It was both the Eren from my memories and the Eren as I know him today combined into one, single painting. He’s sitting beneath a tree, but the only part that you can see of it is the trunk that he’s leaning up against. He’s looking upwards at something (someone…me?) with a smile stretched across his face. You can see the shadow of the leaves across his face, making his eyes sparkle.

                And the eyes. Under closer inspection, I see that they aren’t the perfect color, but it was damn near close to it. They glint happily, peacefully, and I can tell that expression came from a memory. The only time I’ve ever seen him smile like that, ever, is when we were alone together, happy. When we weren’t worrying about the next day, the next year. When we weren’t wondering who was going to survive longer than the other.

                An expression of pure love and devotion.

                It made my heart ache.

                “I saw him last night,” I finally answer Hange, not taking my eyes away from the painting.

                “Well, that’s a bit obvious! You’re always seeing him in your—“

                “No, Hange, I _saw_ him. I spoke with him, I met him here.” I look up at them, and I’m sure that they can see pain in my eyes when I do. “He’s here. He’s alive.”

                “Oh my God, Levi, that’s great! Where, when? Did he run to you, did you kiss?” They gasped loudly, getting caught up in it. “Did you guys _do the do_?”

                “He doesn’t remember, Hange.” My tone is cold as ice and I can practically hear their excitement fade from the room. “He doesn’t remember any of it. No the titans, not the walls, not himself, not me.” I look down again, picking at the paint underneath my fingernails. “He doesn’t remember me.”

                Hange sits down next to me, placing their hand on my shoulder in a rare moment of sympathy. They speak quietly, “You aren’t going to tell him.” They know me too well.

                “I don’t want him to remember all of the fucked up shit that happened to him back then. I don’t want him to remember everything. I just…” I trail off, but I don’t have to finish. Hange has learned to read my emotions over the years, and they know what I want to say.

                But neither of us will say it.

                It isn’t until I’m pushing myself to my feet do I stop dead cold, slowly looking back at them. “Hange?”

                “Yes, dear?”

                “How did you know?” Confusion crosses their face.

                “Know about what, Levi?”

                “Eren.”

                A wide, almost terrifying smile crosses over their face. “I’m assuming you mean your relationship together.” I nod. “Oh honey. I knew almost immediately. Do you really think that you’d be able to keep that from me?” They shake their head, as if shaming a young child for keeping a petty secret. “Besides, Eren was anything but quiet. You could hear him moaning and shrieking from all the way—“

                “Okay, yes, I get it Hange, thank you.” I look back at the painting. “What am I going to do with it?”

                “I have a feeling you aren’t actually talking about the painting here.”

                I shrug. “Well, I don’t know what I’m going to do with the painting or the fucking boy and his goddamn pretty eyes. _This_ can’t stay here.”

                “I can take it off of your hands if you want, Levi!” Hange is far too enthusiastic and I really don’t want to know what’s going through their thick head.

                “I said I wanted it gone, out of the way, not destroyed, you shit for brains.”

                They pout. “I wouldn’t destroy your artwork.”

                “You’d get shit all over it, don’t pretend I haven’t seen that mess that you somehow live in.”     

                While they continued to deny the facts, I wake up enough to make my way into the kitchen, knowing that there is coffee waiting to be made. While I busy about the kitchen, they follow me around, like a puppy that doesn’t know when to stop. I’ve finally had enough when I run into them for the tenth time.

                “Hange.”

                “And I don’t—what?”

                “Shut the fuck up.”

                They continue to whine as I pour the water into the coffeemaker, detesting the grinding, gurgling sound the wretched thing makes as I let the coffee brew. I hate coffee. It’s disgusting. But tea doesn’t quite wake you up the same way a terrible cup of black coffee does. I’ve learned to live with it.

                I glance at the clock on the wall and nearly drop the cup of water.

                It was 3:30 in the afternoon.

                “Jesus Christ Hange, why couldn’t you have woken my ass up earlier?” I grumble to myself under my breath. Thankfully, four-eyes was too busy jabbering away to themselves to hear, because they don’t really understand the concept of a rhetorical question.

                “…and I fully believe that while a relationship between the two of them back then was completely fine and rational, as they were both put under immense pressure as Humanity’s Best Pair, a relationship now would only be their downfall—“

                Downfall? “Four-eyes, hold up.” They continue to ramble to themselves. “Shitface.”

                “Really, Levi, it’s rather rude for you to refer to me—“

                “Back the fuck up. Downfall?”

                They look back at me with a blank stare before realizing the meaning behind my question. “Oh, your downfall, yes.”

                “Well? Clarify, you fucking loon.”

                They match me with an unimpressive glare and a deep sigh before continuing their high-speed babble.

                “Well, when you were Humanity’s Best Pair, as I like to refer to the two of you, always in my head only, of course, pursuing a romantic relationship would be completely rational, even beneficial, considering the circumstantial pressure put on your shoulders. Together you could share the weight and help each other. Now, however…” They straighten their glasses with a frown on their usually cheerful face, their eyebrows furrowed in thought. “Now, I believe it would be rather detrimental to the mental state of both you and Eren, what with the incomplete state of his mind. It would also be rather hard to form a trusting, stable, healthy relationship, since you would do anything in your power to keep the horrors of his past life from him. You would be keeping very important secrets from someone who was— _is_ —very important to you. That never ends well.”

                Hange, those shitty four-eyes…has a really good point. God dammit.

                “It would probably be better for you and Eren if you just stayed away from one another altogether. Avoid contact, avoid the rather obvious chemistry.”

                “So you’re saying I should avoid talking to or even looking at the one person I’ve ever truly loved in this life and the last?”

                Hange offers me a sad smile. “You don’t love him in this life, Levi. You love the memories of him and the feelings he gave you. You loved the Eren Jaeger who could transform into a 15 meter tall beast. You’ve never gotten the chance to love the Eren Jaeger who lives upstairs.”

                I take a moment to process and think about they’ve said. Do I love Eren? The feelings from my past life, for Humanity’s Last Hope are certainly still residing in me. I feel them, every night and every day, bubbling inside of me like a pot that’s about to boil over.

                When I think of that Eren Jaeger, I think of the eyes that held so much emotion, so much passion, so much anger and hatred and loathing and fear and love. I think of the way he looked lying in the pale moonlight, his skin glistening with sweat, whether that be from the humidity of the summer night or our passionate love-making. I think of the way he loved children, and the way he never looked down upon a truly curious soul. The strength in his stride, even when faced with an immense struggle. I think of his self-loathing and harm, of how he would cry into the curve of my neck into the early hours of the morning because no, he couldn’t, he wouldn’t do it anymore, he was useless, he was monstrous and weighted down by the deaths of countless soldiers in his stead. I thought of the way he bit himself blood, the way he underwent countless amounts of torture, much of it inflicted upon himself, and how he was able to actually overcome it.

                I thought about falling, so, so far to the hard, cold ground, of smashing against rocks in such a painful way that I knew, I just _knew_ I’d never make it out of the forest alive. I thought about the Earth shuddering, ear shattering, blood curdling shriek coming from the titan-shifter as he saw my crumpled, broken body on the ground and thinking, just before my last breath—

                “I love you, Eren Jaeger.”

                Did I love that Eren Jaeger? Undoubtedly. But do I love the Eren Jaeger living upstairs? I guess, technically, I just met the kid yesterday. And yet, I still found every little thing, be it like the old Eren or not, endearing.

                No. I’m not in love with the Eren Jaeger of this lifetime.

                That doesn’t mean I’m not falling, hard and all too quickly.

                So maybe shit-for-brains is right. I should stay as far away from this Eren as humanly (and neighborly) possible. Minimalize the damage caused to both of us.

                I’m pulled from my thoughts when Hange says, “Um, Levi? This coffee is burnt as fuck.”

                Shit.

                We decide to head to the closest, non-shitty coffeehouse for coffee instead, bearing the wintry cold. As soon as I step through the door and see the barista, I knew that the conclusion I had come to not ten minutes ago would be very hard to stick to.

                An overly happy, overly messy-haired kid greets us with an overly wide smile and overly cheerful, overly green eyes.

                “Hi, wel—oh, hey Levi!” Fucking Christ. “What’s up?”

                I avert my eyes from him, looking up at the menu board behind him instead. “What’s it look like, brat? I came here to get some shitty coffee.”

                Even out of the corner of my eye, I can see the absolutely-not-at-all-adorable pout on his face. “Our coffee isn’t shitty, you’re just grumpy.”

                He’s got me there.

                “Levi, you know him?”

                “Eh? Oh, yeah. New neighbor. Eren, shitty-glasses. Hange, brat.”

                They both respond to my introduction with a (slightly whined) “Hey!”

                “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Eren! You have such beautiful green eyes!” Great, they’ve already gone into creeper territory. I didn’t even realize I was glaring at them until they stuck their tongue out at me and my brow furrowed even deeper.

                Eren stutters, an absolutely-and-I-mean-not-at-all-cute blush covering his cheeks as he looks down to the ground, occasionally glancing at me. “Th-thank you?”

                My glare aimed at Hange holds steady. “Four-eyes, you broke him. Just fucking order your drink.” I turn back to Eren. “I’ll have a dark roast with a shot of espresso.”

                “And I’ll have a green tea latte with two shots of French vanilla flavoring, whipped cream, cinnamon and caramel drizzle!” My glare turns into a look of abject horror. What the actual fuck did they just order…?

                “Gotcha!” The blush from his cheeks starts to fade as he rings up Hange and I’s order. A look of complete concentration  comes over his face as he prepares our drinks,  his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth slightly.

                Hange thanks him for the coffee, and he shouts “Bye, Levi!” as we exit the shop. Hange heaves out a large sigh.

                “Oh, honey.”

                “Why the fuck are _you_ sighing, four-eyes?”

                “You have your work cut out for you, if those sidelong glances and little blushes were anything to go by. Then again, he never was good at hiding anything.” They pivot to stand right in front of me, stopping me in my tracks and putting a hand on my shoulder. With an uncharacteristically serious face, they say, “Be strong, Levi.”

                Mother fucker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This is also posted on my tumblr, mistressofgloryandmayhem. It's mostly just anime trash and humor. It's also worth mentioning that this fic is unbeta'd, so if you see any mistakes, feel free to point them out!


	5. Sent Your Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Levi can't seem to keep out of Eren's way, his paintings become darker, and Mikasa issues a surprising warning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been awhile, huh? Some of you have commented, asking for more, for a finished fic, for something! And here I am. I can't promise a finished fic, considering I still have no idea what I wanted to do with this fic and never really did, but I can give you at least this one chapter, eh? Maybe one more?
> 
> Like usual, un-beta'd. Enjoy!

                Keeping my distance from Eren has been even harder than I imagined it would be. It’s as if every time I turn around, he’s there. In our past life, when we were lovers, turning around and seeing him shadowing me or twining his fingers with mine when we thought nobody was looking was what kept me going throughout the particularly terrible days. Now, however, it’s just frustrating.

                Just the day after Hange came to my apartment and met Eren at the café, I ran into Eren going down in the elevator, a large box marked “consignment” being held in his arms. He grinned immediately when he saw me. I, however, deepened my scowl.

                “Hey, Levi! What’s up?” His cheerful voice ringing through the elevator at 9 AM had me cringing inside. Instead of telling the brat to quiet down, I focused on relaxing my face from the scowl into my usual mask of deep disinterest.

                “Nothing much, brat.”

                “I’m just taking this to the consignment shop down the street to see if we can bring in a little extra cash to get some proper wifi, instead of just stealing it from our neighbors.

                This brat, my God. “An answer to a question I never asked.” At that, Eren twisted his face into that fucking pout that, while I admit is a feature exclusive to _this_ Eren (past Eren _never_ pouted), is utterly and inexplicably fucking adorable.

                The elevator doors opened to the main lobby, releasing me from the small, enclosed space that I shared with the boy who smelled of coffee. I kept my pace brisk, trying to distance myself from the brunet, but to no avail. The kid just jogged up next to me, a smile plastered to his absolutely goofy face. Caribbean eyes danced with mirth.

                “Where are you going, Levi?” He didn’t seem to be having any trouble keeping pace with me, taking long strides that made it look like he was gliding along next to me. One step taken by him matched two of my own.

                Fucking tall brat.

                “Art supply store.”

                “Oh, cool! Have fun, Levi!” he called out after we separated, turning in different directions to reach our destinations. I had let out a short sigh before continuing on my way.

                After that, I started taking the stairs.

                The second time I accidentally met Eren was just few days ago. I had been walking home from the grocery store, arms full with paper bags, when I felt a weight being lifted from my arms. Getting ready to deck whoever had just stolen my groceries, I turn around, only to be confronted with an overly excitable puppy of a boy.

                “What the _fuck_ , Eren. I almost beat the shit out of you right then and there.” These words, after leaving my mouth, made me cringe. A memory flashed through my mind, and I could almost hear my foot connecting with his face. I swear, for a minute, I thought I saw a tooth skitter across the sidewalk.

                Eren’s laughter shattered the vivid memory. “Sorry, Levi. You just looked like you needed a bit of help there.”

                “I don’t need any of your help, brat. I’m a big boy. I can carry my own groceries back to my apartment.” The smell of coffee permeates off of him, as if he’s been bathing in the bitter substance.

                He doesn’t respond, just smiles at me and continues walking as if I hadn’t said anything at all. This goddamn brat…

                “Eren. I got it. You don’t have to continue carrying my things for me like I’m an elderly lady living alone. I’ve got this.”

                “What’s the point in you struggling, though, when we’re both walking to the same place anyways?”

                Needless to say, I didn’t win that argument.

                The third time that Eren intruded so rudely into my peaceful albeit lonely life was just yesterday afternoon, after walking into that fucking coffee shop again and forgetting about the bright-eyed barista working behind the filthy counters.

                The bell had just barely rung above me before I curse under my breath and Eren greets me jovially. How could I have forgotten that he works here? Had I really been that deep in thought? I look into those deep green eyes, sparkling with mirth, and I completely forget what I was thinking about altogether.

                “Hey, Levi! How’ve you been?” This question is aimed at me, even though he’s handing another customer his order.

                “Yeah, thanks Eren, it was nice seeing you too,” the customer snarked. I immediately recognize his long face and two-toned hair.

                Jean Kirschtein.  One of Hangi’s failed projects. One of my former subordinates.

                “Oh, fuck you too, horseface. Just get out now,” Eren aimed back at him, a smile gracing his face despite the rude words. The nickname spawns a smirk on my own face.

                Kirschtein leaves with barely a glance in my direction. I briefly wonder if he remembers anything before pushing the thought aside. It’s hard enough thinking about the past when around Eren. Anything more than absolutely necessary is just asking for trouble.

                “Is that any way to treat your customers?” The words pop from my mouth before I can even think about taking them back.

                Eren’s smile, somehow, gets wider. “Only the horse-faced ones.” He tosses a hand towel over his shoulder after wiping his hands on it. “That’s Armin’s friend, Jean.” A look of minor concentration crosses his face, and it’s definitely not completely cute the way his nose scrunches as he screws up his face in thought. “Well, I guess he’s my friend too, but I don’t like to tell other people that.” A wink is sent my way. “Can’t have everyone know I keep company with idiots.”

                “They wouldn’t have to hazard much of a guess,” I respond idly, pretending to look at the menu. In my peripheral vision, I see that fucking pout come over his face again. I resist the urge to apologize and brush his bangs from his face.  “I’ll just have an Earl Grey with cream.”

                That stupid smile splits his face again. “Coming right up.”

                It’s mesmerizing, watching Eren’s hands work. It’s elegant and delicate while also somehow fumbling and unsteady at the same time. He adds the leaves with steady hands but grinds them with slight difficulty, as if he still hasn’t gotten the hang of the machine. He pours the water and the milk with extreme precision and grace, but putting the lid on the cup is a struggle. I hardly notice when he speaks to me. For what seems like the thirtieth time, I catch only the end of his sentence.

                “…with me?” He’s fidgeting, his fingers playing with the towel thrown over his shoulder as he looks at me with an expectant and sheepish look upon his face.

                “Sorry?” I pick my cup up from the counter and take a sip.

                Fucking perfect.

                His fidgeting increases and he looks down. “Um, my friend. The one that just left? He’s having a party tomorrow night, and I was wondering if you’d like to join me? Us? I mean Mikasa and Armin will be there too, it’s not as if I’m asking you to go with me _alone_ or anything. And there would be—“

                “Eren,” I interrupt his babbling. “I can’t go to that party with you.”

                “Oh.” He wipes his hand on the towel again and grins. “Okay.”

                Why isn’t he put off? I just rejected him, shouldn’t he be a little more disappointed? I mean, even _I’m_ disappointed. I’d love nothing more than to go to that party with him, to see him happy and dancing and absolutely _free_. But I have to stay away from him, even if it hasn’t been working…

                “So, er…see you around?” I immediately curse my own choice of words.

                “Later, Levi!” His voice echoes around in my mind as I leave the coffee shop, door ringing loudly behind me.

                And today, here I sit, in front of an easel with slow music playing in the background as I paint a bloody battlefield at 9pm on a Friday night.

                My paintings have definitely gotten darker, bloodier after meeting Eren again. While my paintings have always been gruesome and, quite frankly, disturbing, they’ve definitely gotten worse. This particular painting isn’t just any bloody battlefield. It has the bodies, the limbs and extremities and decapitated heads of fallen soldiers. A shadow looms over the entire field, and you can just barely make out the shape of a humanoid being in the background, eating more people.

                So, yeah. I’ve been painting the titans, the war, and the casualties more and more, though I can’t figure out why. Why has meeting Eren again brought these particular thoughts to the forefront of my mind? Is it guilt? A sense of unfinished business? Has my mind just picked up where it left off with Eren?

                The door slams open, alerting me to the presence of Four-Eyes.  “Levi! What are you doing?”

                “What does it look like, you absolute piece of shit?” I indicate the painting in front of me.

                “No, no what are you doing? You should be out, living your life! Why don’t you come out with Erwin and I for drinks?”

                “Hange, I don’t want-“ A knock at the door interrupts me. I pierce her with a glare. “Don’t you-“

                “Hello!” She slams open the door and greets Mikasa on the other side. Mikasa shoots me a look, and I give her a grim nod before she answers.

                “Hi Hange, nice seeing you again.” A small smile alights her face, and I’m immediately reminded that she and Hange became extremely close after Eren’s death.

                Hange being Hange won’t take a small smile as a reunion, however, and scoops Mikasa up into a bone-crushing hug. Mikasa hugs her back with enthusiasm, hiding her face in her former mentor’s shoulder.

                “It’s so great to see you again, sweet pea! You’re so beautiful, just look at you! Have you gotten yourself someone who cherishes and loves you like you deserve? Gosh, it’s been so long I can’t just-“

                “Hange, you’re crushing her.” She releases Mikasa, but takes her hands.

                “It’s good to see you too, Hange.” Mikasa lets go of her hands and turns to me, the smile leaving her face as she grows serious. “Levi.”

                “Mikasa.”

                “Have you been flirting with Eren?”

                I snort. “How nice to see you, too. Yes I’m well, thank you for asking.” She’s unamused, as usual. I sigh and cross my arms. “No, I’ve been avoiding him, actually.”

                Her eyes narrow into a skeptical glare before she evidently decides that I’m telling the truth, because she relaxes her face and continues. “He won’t stop talking about how hot you are and how silky your voice is.”

                Apparently my face abandons its usual mask, because not only does Hange cackle like the maniac she is, but Mikasa also cracks a grin. I aim a shrug at her. “I guess I’ll try harder.”

                Hange only laughs harder.


End file.
